Insanity
by Wolf190
Summary: One man struggles to cope with his sanity which is slowly ebbing away in his small space. Now, he faces his memories and the silence that lets him remember them. Finished.
1. Chapter 1

The gunshots were all that he could remember, the gunshots and the screams.

"_Help us! Stephen, come back!"_

The crackle of fire, the boom of guns, it was all gone now. He was alone. Silence pervaded the space and kept him from thinking, he just wasn't use to this kind of quiet. Not one bird sang, nor any bugs chirped. It was just silence.

He felt for the gun at his side for the tenth time in the last two minutes, making sure it was still there. He was trying not to panic again.

"_Come back here you fucking coward!"_

"_No, the door is locked! Come back!" The voices were desperate._

He grabbed his head and shook it to clear his mind. _Can't think about it._ He looked back up at the door in front of him. It was boarded up, allowing only a few rays of light to shine through.

_It won't hold._

_Yes it will._

_No it won't._

He sucked in a large breath and made sure any other openings in his space were boarded. The only way out besides going through a wall was that door.

_They are going to find you._

He knocked himself in the head to stop the voice. It only served to give him a headache.

_They are going to get through._

_It's strong enough._

None of these voices were his.

_You can't hide here. It's so obvious!_

_Just keep quiet. Keep out of sight._

_Out of sight? You have no other way out other than that door! When they find you, you'll be just like them._

He finally found the strength to interject.

_Shut up both of you!_ They stopped, at least for the moment. It was hurting his head just to think. The memories kept coming back.

"_Please Stephen! He is in here with us! Please open the door!"_

"_Dad help us!"_

"_Don't you fucking leave!"_

"Come on Stephen," he whispered, "don't give up on them." He seemed to be unaware that no one else was in the room with him. A tear slipped from one of his eyes and fell onto the dirty floor below him.

"You can't leave them Stephen." Stephen Cartwright just slumped down into a corner, rocking back and forth with his hands on his head.

"You just can't leave them…"


	2. Chapter 2

_Stephens's eyes snapped open. He bolted up from his place of rest and looked around. A woman next to him sat up with him._

"_Stephen, what's wrong?" He looked at her and his eyes grew large. "Stephen, is something the matter?" She lifted her hand to feel his forehead. "You don't have a fever."_

_But his throat was too dry to speak. He couldn't form the words._

"_Yo-, you-, you're…" He couldn't finish. Her hazel eyes turned an ugly red._

"_I'm what?" Her voice was distorted, cracked and ugly._

"_Oh shit." He jumped up and tried to run, she grabbed his legs._

_"Don't leave Stephen!" He stumbled but kept running, right into another person, this one a man. The man clamped a strong hand onto his shoulder. Stephen looked at his face; the man's neck was torn open. His mouth moved but made no sound._

"_Eric!" Stephen stuttered, backing up._

"_Daddy?" Stephen turned around to meet the voice._

"_Logan?"_

"Fuck!" Stephen snapped up again from sleeping. He grabbed at his sides to make sure no one was there; almost disappointed at the empty air he managed to catch. Then he grabbed at his face. "Shit." He wiped the tears away. "Not again." He looked through the slits of the boards, still dark. He didn't spot movement anywhere in his field of vision.

_Keep quiet next time._

Stephen grabbed at a candy bar he had thrown into a corner the night before. He unwrapped the candy and stuffed the sweet chocolate into his mouth and tried to chew it slowly, savoring the taste. This was one of the last ones.

After swallowing the last bits, he felt for his pistol, lying in another corner, and slid it into its holster. Then he gathered all the supplies he had, two water bottles and a few candy bars, and made sure they were together and stored them in the same corner he had gotten his gun from.

"That should do for now." His throat was dry but he didn't dare take another sip. He feared he may not stop.

_Barely any supplies left._

Stephen didn't feel that a response was necessary.

_Well, go out and get some more then._

He shook his head; too dangerous.

_Just step outside and look around._

He was tempted, but the fire. He knew they had to be in the area, attracted by the fire.

_That was your fault._

_He survived, did what he had to._

_You mean leaving the-_

"Shut up!" He punched the wall next to him. Crying out in pain, he pulled his hand back. It was bleeding, splinters from the wood having embedded themselves inside of his fist. The boards on the wall weren't even; he had managed to smash his hand on the ones sticking out.

Swearing, he put his back to the wall and tried to find a little light to work with. He struggled to pull each splinter out, his long, untrimmed nails hindering the process. When he was finished, he opened a water bottle and poured just a tiny amount on his bleeding hand. It wasn't a huge wound so he wasn't concerned about it too much, but he knew the dangers of infection.

He was about to put the cap on the bottle but paused. Unable to help himself, he put the bottle to his lips and drank, and drank, and drank. Before he could realize it, all the water in the bottle was gone. He stood there for a minute holding the empty container, wondering if what he had just done was worth it.

_Nice one you idiot, now you only have one._

He threw the empty bottle against a wall and sat back down. Nothing he did was ever right. Not one god dammed thing, even before this all happened. He didn't think, more like just stared into space for another hour. It was how he passed the time.

When he came back to the real world, he could see the sun coming up from the tiny slits between boards on the door, and he felt nature's call. Reluctant to do business in the same place he ate, Stephen turned from the door and took another short step so he could reach the small window slightly above his head. He reached both hands up and lifted himself through, thanking his weekly trips to the gym before-

_Yeah, we know._

Now through the window, he faced his challenge; it was a straight drop to the ground face first from here. He squeezed both arms through the window and put them both in front of him, prepared to catch himself as he wiggled his way out. He felt gravity pull on him and he fell from the window, tucking and rolling to reduce the impact. He quickly got back on his feet, pulling the gun from its holster and sweeping the area with it. Nothing.

He kept the pistol out in front of him; just in case. His little shed was close enough to a house he had passed the day before.

_While running._

He made his way opposite the rising sun and breathed in the cool mourning air. He spotted the little house off to his left and checked that nothing was around it before opening the old door. It squeaked on its hinges and he winced, hoping that nothing was in the house. He stopped to listen for movement, his survival instincts kicking back in after being dormant for so long.

After a minute, he still hadn't heard anything so he opened the door even more until he could get through and then closed it again behind him. He was in a living room, cluttered from top to bottom with dusty furniture, old pictures, and other things that detailed who had lived here previously. He saw a staircase to his right and a door directly in front of him, leading to a kitchen. He left the upstairs until later and stepped into the kitchen. He spotted moldy bread and an open jar of peanut butter on a counter, and ignored it because he knew it had gone bad. Stephen opened the fridge door and stepped back with a sleeve to his nose from the smell of rotted food. He should have known better, and closed it quickly. Looking in the cabinets underneath the counters, he found three cans of soup, a can opener for them, a sealed jar of spiced peaches, and another jar of peanut butter. Satisfied with his findings, he laid them on the counter and continued searching. He grabbed a kitchen knife just because.

He left the kitchen and stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring up into the darkness. Should he even go?

_Just go, it's not like you have anything to lose anyway._

He took a step, and then hesitated. Then he took another, and another, and another, until he had found himself at the top. He squinted through the darkness to find two doors, one was open and led into a bathroom, and another was closed. He stepped close to the closed door, finding the knob and taking a deep breath, slowly turning it. He cracked the door open to see a bit into the room and saw the end of a bed, a dresser, and a TV on top of a small table. He smelled something terrible. He opened it more anyway until he found what the cause of the stench was. Someone, probably the previous owner, had hung themselves from a ceiling fan. Underneath the body, a chair was sitting sideways on the floor; it had probably served as the platform. Stephen covered his nose and holstered his gun until he had closed the door again. He wanted to leave.

Stephen got back downstairs and gathered his supplies, opening the door and checking outside again, he quickly got back to his shed. After dumping everything inside through the tiny window, he finally answered the call over some bushes nearby; after making sure it was all clear of course. Then he returned to his shed and entered the same way he had exited.

Looking at his bounty, he allowed a small smile. It wouldn't last forever of course, and he would defiantly have to find another source of food, but for now it would serve his purposes. He gathered it all and separated the knife from food and set them in separate corners. He didn't know how he would cook the cans of soup but he could always try that trick he had learned as a boy scout.

But for now, he pushed the memories from his mind sat back against his usual wall, closing his eyes and eventually drifting off into an uneasy sleep. Before long, he once again saw the fires. He heard the sirens, and he heard the screams.

"_You are being evacuated; please calmly make your way to the checkpoint so you can be escorted to a safer location." The rattling of a machine gun overpowered the speaker for a moment and lit up the darkness, and then the voice came back, only to be drowned out by the screams of countless people._

_Stephen saw the officer standing on the humvee. He was holding a megaphone, speaking into it and trying to calm the crowd down enough so they could be moved. A whole line of trucks were lined up at the bus station, crammed to the fullest with people desperate to get out of the city._

"_We are trying to get more vehicles to help with the evacuation, ple-" He was cut off by someone grabbing him and pulling him off the humvee. The crowd surged forward, overpowering the army grunts standing guard. Stephen grabbed his son's hands, along with his wife's._

"_Stephen, what are we doing?" He just pulled her forward to try and get into a truck that had room._

"_We need to get into a truck!" He could hear his son crying. He reached down and picked him up so he wouldn't lose him in the angry crowd._

"_But they told us to wait!" A few people behind them screamed._

"_What was that?" His son asked. He shook his head and continued forward. They were so close to the trucks, which had started their engines and were starting to pull out._

"_You just can't leave us!" Someone yelled._

"_They're here!" More people screamed. Panic swept over the crowd and it surged unapologetically over anyone not fast enough to keep up. Finally, the three reached a truck that had a few spaces left. Stephen lifted his son up into the waiting arms of a few selfless strangers and then helped his wife up. She was almost in when a man tried to grab her and pull her off. The man wanted in first._

"_No, she was here first!" He tried reasoning but the sounds of his wife's screaming sent him over the edge. He threw a punch at the guy, who then stumbled backwards and let go of his wife. Without hesitation, Stephen climbed up as the truck started rolling away from the station. He saw the man get back up at first angry, then terrified as a group of people tackled him to the ground. His screams were cut short a second later. More people streamed after their truck, some normal looking, others not so normal. Stephen continued staring at the spot he had last seen him until they were out of the city and onto a highway. He sat back in his seat and closed his stinging eyes, wiping away the tears._

"_Are you okay honey?" His wife asked, holding his son in her lap. She hadn't seen what had happened to the man._

"_Yeah." He nodded his head and looked at her face. She smiled weakly at him._

"_At least now we are safe." He nodded again._

"_Yes, now we are safe."_


	3. Chapter 3

He didn't get much sleep for the rest of the night. He was woken up by the sounds of heavy footsteps, a lot of them. He could hear them passing by his shed in large numbers. He got up, adrenaline pumping into his system, and peeked through the cracks in the wood to see if they were really infected. He couldn't see them very well in the dark hours of the morning, but he knew it was them. It was the way they sounded when they ran, like animals.

He saw shadows dart from tree to tree and sometimes only feet away from where he was looking through. He tried to see their faces, tried to match them up with those he remembered, those of his family and friends. He didn't get any matches. He didn't know what he would have done if he had. So when they had left and he was sure that it was safer than it had been just a few minutes ago, he fell back against his wall and failed to get back to sleep for another half hour until, finally, his exhaustion won over his survival instincts and his head slumped against his chest, asleep.

Then he woke back up, back in the truck with his wife and son and they were out of the sight of the city. It had disappeared behind hills and trees once their truck got on the highways. Stephen looked out the back, it was open because no one had time to pull it down before they pulled out of the station, and saw what looked like hundreds of vehicles, ranging from small motorcycles and mopeds, to commercial trucks, still carrying their load, all driving away from the cities. He even spotted a few armored cars and humvees, complete with machine guns mounted on the top. He sat back in his seat and glanced at his sleeping son and wife and felt a wave of relief flood through him at their safety. Then he thought back to the man he had punched back at the bus station. It was the man's fault, Stephen reasoned, maybe if he hadn't acted so aggressively someone would have helped him up into the truck. He still struggled to cope with the man's death. He had been right there; he could have reached a hand out instead of selfishly climbing up for his own safety.

Stephen put his head in his hands and closed his eyes until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see a man, looking not a day over twenty, patting his shoulder. The tired-looking man smiled weakly at him.

"Are you okay?" He pulled his hand back to his side.

"Yeah, don't worry about it."

"It's alright; we have all had a rough couple of days." The man looked over at Stephen's wife and son and, after a few moments of silence asked, "That your family?"

"Yeah it is." Stephen nodded, "That's my son Logan, and my wife Amy. My name is Stephen." The man held his hand out to shake, and Stephen met him halfway.

"Well hello Stephen, my name is Eric." He had icy blue eyes that looked back over to the sleeping family, and then he looked back at Stephen. "You're lucky to have gotten them out. Some of us weren't so lucky." His face turned serious.

"You don't have to talk about it," Stephen said, spotting the look on his face and knowing what it meant. Everyone had a story.

"No, it's something I need to tell someone." He continued, "I can't keep it to myself anymore. It's been driving me crazy inside." The man's eyes told Stephen that he wasn't exaggerating. He wondered for a second if he would have been the same if he had lost his own family.

"Are you sure you want to tell me?" Eric nodded his head 'yes'. "If I stir up bad memories or anything, then feel free to stop."

"No, I can't keep this to myself, I feel like I _need_to tell someone now that I have the chance." Stephen was reluctant, but inhaled, and then nodded his head.

"Ok then, go ahead and tell me if you want." He glanced around the truck where most people were sleeping. "I have plenty of time."

"Alright, it was just me and my girlfriend." He seemed anxious to finally tell someone, and his eyes lit up for a split second at the mention of her, but then it died in his eyes. "We were trying to get to that football stadium that the radio was saying was safe. Do you know the one I am talking about?" Stephen did recall something about it. Something he had heard through a couple conversing with themselves a while back. The army had secured an old stadium near the outside of the city; they were using it as a staging area to evacuate people. A radio broadcaster was going on about how anyone who could make it there should, and do it as fast as they could.

"Yes, I do remember something about that."

"Yea well we were trying to get there. And we did eventually and we even got to a bus that wasn't too full." He took a deep breath. "Well, we started pulling away, and we were out of the parking lot, when a whole bunch of those things attacked the inside, where it was just mostly other people, not too many soldiers. We heard the screaming, the gunshots, and an explosion, and suddenly our bus stopped. Everyone stood up, wondering why we weren't moving when we found out that someone had accidentally shot some of our tires out. Image twenty plus people all scrambling to get the doors open and out of a single bus." He shook his head. "It wasn't pretty. People fell and were stomped into the floor, we didn't try to help them; we were too busy trying to get away."

He looked generally ashamed at this fact, but continued nothing less.

"When we finally got out and started running, I noticed that this lady _had_ stopped to help someone out of the bus, they made it about twenty more feet before a group of those bastards got to them." He shook his head again mournfully. "They only screamed for a moment or two, but I can't remember too well, we were being chased and we didn't want to stop. A group of us, including my girlfriend, made it over a fence before those things got there, right behind us. We heard the fence shake and rattle and heard something like growling. Some of us turned back to see some of those things just standing there, gripping the fence, looking up. It was almost as if they were trying to figure out what to do next. Then one started climbing, then the rest started following. Our group ran through backyards, alleys, and trees until we had made it away from the stadium and most of the action. Then we stopped to rest for a while."

"It happened that quickly?"

"Yeah, that quick it went from escape to running from hell." Eric snapped his fingers for emphasis.

Stephen shook his head in genuine empathy. The feeling was all too familiar. Eric paused for him, but he waved him on.

"Well, when we all caught our breath, we tried to figure out what to do next. Some people wanted to keep going deeper into the woods, others wanted to try another army-held checkpoint. We all agreed that we didn't want to go back there."

"So you chose the checkpoints?"

"Yes, we all decided to stay as a group, it was about six of us including me and Rachel. We made our way through the woods, someone, I can't remember his name, had camped in that part of the woods and knew his way back to the streets. He knew that a bus station was nearby and that it was serving as a checkpoint for evacuating citizens. We were about ten minutes away when we came across the remains of a battle that had occurred earlier. Bodies were everywhere, bullet casings, guns, food, blood; it was all over the place. Even burnt-out cars littered the streets when we got there. So we took advantage of the guns and picked some up, not knowing that some of those things were still around. Well then they heard us coming and came out of nowhere, about ten of them. We weren't thinking then, we starting firing at them. More came, and then more, and eventually we started running more than shooting. We had lost a few people, they had either run a different direction or were," he paused, "or were grabbed before they could get away." He paused again, biting his lower lip.

"Take your time, you don't have to rush." Stephen tried to comfort him, having a feeling that he knew all too well what was next. It was like all the others.

"Well me, my girlfriend, and this other guy tried to get a car that we had found working while the others tried to stall those things. We got it running and everyone got in when they reached the car. They banged on it with hands, fists, and everything else you could hit it with. We started pulling away when the window Rachel was sitting next to..." He stopped talking to get himself together, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry about this."

"No don't worry about it, take your time." After a moment, Eric started again, but he was looking past Stephen, staring at something not quite there.

"Well one of them grabbed her and pulled her head out of the window and," he paused again, "she just started screaming like mad. We all made a grab for her to try to pull her back in." He sobbed. "We didn't want to lose another group member and she was my girlfriend you know? I was right beside her, tugging on her shirt and pants to try and get her back in." He paused again to collect himself. Tears ran down his cheeks. "Well we managed to get her inside but…" He stopped again and looked as if he couldn't continue.

"You don't have to go on."

"Yes I do." He responded strongly. He was crying, muffling his speech as he wiped away his tears, but he didn't want to stop.

After another moment, he continued.

"But by then she had stopped screaming and she was missing…" He waved a hand around his face. "She was just missing her…" His chest heaved and he finally relented to his emotions. His body was wracked with sobs.

"It's ok Eric, go ahead, let it out." Stephen offered the only support he knew how to give at that moment. He put a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"I had to do it Stephen. I just couldn't see her turn into one of them. I just couldn't!" His sentences were punctured by hiccups.

Stephen really didn't know what to say.

"Her blood was everywhere, it was all over the car and we opened the door and just let her body fall out onto the pavement as we sped down the road." He looked back at Stephen, desperate for judgment. "Can you believe that we just threw her out of the car?"

"I'm sorry Eric, I really am." Eric still cried into his hands, and Stephen still continued to pat his back. He sat as the man cried harder than anyone he had ever seen. A small puddle began to form.

With a wipe of his nose, Eric tried to clear his face and regain some of his composure. He eventually returned Stephen's hand.

"Thanks for hearing me out, Stephen. I really needed to get that off my chest." He stared at the floor of the truck, still crying. "We were supposed to get married next week." Stephen flinched, not expecting this. "We had it all planned out, the guests, the invites, even the colors of our house when we bought one." He looked Stephen right in the eyes. "She had picked out baby names already." Stephen swallowed the lump in his throat, realizing how close he could have been to becoming like Eric. He wondered what made the difference between them two. Luck? Just random chance? He could have been dead, or he could have been the one telling the story of his wife and his son. He found only a small amount of relief in knowing they were still by him. He turned to on them, and didn't see them; there was just empty space where they had sat just minutes before. He started to panic.

"What's wrong Stephen?"

"My wife and son, they're gone, they aren't here." Eric looked at him in sympathy.

"Do you want to tell me how they went?" Stephen stared at him, dumbstruck.

"No, they aren't dead! They were right there!" He pointed at the empty space. "They were with me when I got on."

"Stephen, what are you talking about? That seat has been empty the whole time."

"No, they are alive!" Stephen was panicking.

"You need to calm down. You're making a scene, man." Eric wiped the tears from his face.

"I don't fucking care! Where is my family?"

"Just accept it man, we all lost someone."

"They aren't dead!"

"Yes they are!"

Stephen jerked up from his position on the dirt floor. He grabbed at his chest, where he felt pain and wiped some sweat off his brow. It had all been a dream. But what happened at the end? He couldn't figure it out. He put a hand to his head. That wasn't what happened. He thought back to the conversation he had with Eric on the truck but only drew a blank. He couldn't remember. _I can't remember._ He grabbed at the memory in his mind, fought for it, screamed for its release. He grabbed his head, shook it a couple of times and hit the floor with his fist. _I must remember!_ Finally, he grasped what had happened and flashed back to that moment in time.

He remembered talking to Eric about his girlfriend. He remembered turning to look at his wife and son. Then white, like a wall was blocking him from seeing them. He punched the wall, kicked it with his feet. He tried desperately to try and remember their faces again. But he only came up with a blank.

_Give it to me!_ He screamed in his mind. _Let me see their faces again!_ The wall cracked. He hit it again and it split. _Come on already! Give them back to me!_

He struck it again and cracks streamed down the sides.

_Please give them back to me!_ He pleaded with no one. _Please let me see them!_

He punched the wall with all his might and it split into a tiny million little pieces, the bits floating around him. He raced through to find himself face to face with his wife. He hugged her tightly, never intending on letting go again. He pulled back and studied her soft features. The curves on her face never accented her features like they did now; the wrinkles that were starting to develop never looked so beautiful on her then at that very moment in time. He looked down beside her, seeing his son standing next to him. He picked him up and hugged him just as tightly. There he stood for what seemed like hours, just hugging them and telling them how much he loved them. But they just stood there, unmoving, with no expression on their faces. They hadn't even reached up to return his hugs. He pulled back, sensing something was different. They looked exactly how he could remember them; they just wouldn't move or speak.

"Amy, what's wrong?" _What's wrong with them?_ "Are you ok?" He leaned down to meet his son's empty gaze.

"Are you ok?" He waved his hand in front of the boy's face. He didn't even blink.

_What the hell is wrong with them?_

"It's your fault." He thought he had said it himself, until he looked back at his wife. She stared at him with the coldest set of eyes imaginable.

"What?" He was confused.

"It's your fault we're like this." He blinked a couple of times, still not understanding.

"What do you mean it's my fault? I didn't do anything."

"That's the problem; you didn't do anything to help _us._"

_Your fault._

"Thanks Dad."

He looked down at his son. Logan was staring in the same direction he had before but spoke again.

"You left us there. Thanks a lot." No emotion crossed the boy' face, not even for a second. Stephen looked back up at his wife, she still stared at him. Then he realized that she wasn't staring _at_him, just in his direction. He moved away from them, they continued to stare.

"No I didn't. I tried to help."

"_Help us Stephen!"_

"_Don't leave!" He remembered the burning building, the screams, and the crackling of the fire and gunshots._

"No you didn't, you just left, and we watched you go." It was Eric speaking this time. He stood beside Amy and Logan.

"You just left us in that little room to die so you could get away."

"No," Stephen said in a whisper, "I didn't do that, I tried to help."

"_Where is he going Mom?" Logan could see his father standing in front of the door through the cracks and imperfections in the wall. He could feel the heat of the fire in the next room, and the sounds of those people on the door._

"_He is just going to get help." His mother replied. She held his hands in hers and squeezed him tightly. He saw her looking behind them to the door that was under attack by those things. It was denting in._

"_Don't you leave Stephen!" The other man, Eric, was pounding and pulling and pushing on the door to try and get it open._

"You left us there Stephen, left us to die."

"No I didn't. I swear to you three, I did not leave you!" He shook his head.

"Yes, you did, now we are dead." All three of them were talking at once to him. They took slow, deliberate steps toward him as he fell to his knees. Tears slipped from his face onto the white plane beneath him. Everything was white, like a white room that stretched forever, no escape from the white.

"You let us die." They took slow, deliberate steps towards him.

"Now it's your turn."

Suddenly, Stephen was back in the shed with its dirt floor and musty interior. He was back with his candy and peanut butter and his water bottles. He was back and he was screaming.

"No! I didn't do it on purpose! I swear I didn't!" He grabbed his face as if to tear it and shook his head angrily. "I didn't leave you I swear!" He writhed on the dirt floor, his eyes rolled almost to the back of his head. "This can't be happening!" He moaned a long, sorrow-filled moan that seemed to last for hours. Then he slumped down and laid there on the floor, silent and unmoving. The only sound came from his chest rising up and down quickly, in tune with his harsh breathing. He laid there for minutes. Then he jolted up from his seat on the floor.

"I have to go back!" He grabbed the water bottles, stuffing them into his pocket. He grabbed the candy, putting it into another one. "I have to find them!" He snatched up the gun from the corner and stuffed it into his pant's waist line. He left the cans of food and the opener but grabbed a knife.

"I can find them, I can find out what happened!"

"_Don't leave Stephen, please!" Stephen stood staring at the door that wouldn't open in front of him._

_Why didn't he open it?_

"_Open it please! We need help!"_

"_Daddy!"_

Stephen tore at the wood nailed to the door. He ripped and punched and kicked until the wound on his fist reopened and started bleeding, even then, he did not stop.

He could see light, then more, until it nearly blinded him. He grunted and groaned with his efforts until he could get a good look outside. He still couldn't get through.

"Open up! I need through!" He kicked and punched more until it gave way under him and he burst through into the open air and fell onto the ground, panting from the amount of energy needed to get through his barricade. He looked around to see nothing but rolling hills and trees. The sky was beautifully blue.

_Look in the house._

Something, he didn't know what, was driving him to move, renewing his energy source and allowing him to pick himself up off the ground.

_You must go to them NOW._

The voice was driving him. He thought back to Eric.

"_I can't keep it to myself anymore. It's been driving me crazy inside."_

Stephen ran, not caring for the attention he could draw to himself. He raced to the old house he had been at the day before. He burst through the door and raced upstairs, not knowing why. He got to the room with the closed door and the horrible stench. He knew what lay behind this door. He opened it slowly to reveal the corpse still hanging from the ceiling. But now he noticed something else, there was another door leading away from this room. Stephen walked past the body to touch this new door. It was made of old oak.

_Open it._

Stephen opened the door. Immediately, he noticed scratches and fist marks on the inside. Blood was pasted where someone had hit their head on the door. There was blood everywhere. He stepped into the walk-in closet and saw that a trail of dried blood led to a dark corner that was out of the light's reach. Stephen looked behind him at the hanging body and saw a window, its drapes drawn to a close. He walked out of the closet and leaned over the bed, next to the body, and pulled them open. Sunlight streamed through and Stephen walked back to the closet. Now he could see what it was, even though he already knew. A body was in the corner, a girl.

_His Wife._

_His Girlfriend._

_His Daughter._

_His Everything._

Stephen looked back at the hanging body, making the connection. He hadn't noticed it, but bottles were strewn all over the floor, mixed with pictures of a pretty woman.

"_No, it's something I need to tell someone. I can't keep it to myself anymore. It's been driving me crazy__inside."_

_Go to them._

Stephen rushed out the bedroom's door and back outside, intent on finding out what had happened to his family.


	4. Chapter 4

He had been walking for a half hour since leaving the old house. It was a nervous duty, being in the open like this. The only thing that could save him should he come under attack was the pistol at his side. He was still unsure if he had the nerves to fire the weapon, should it be required. He didn't like the thought of killing another being, even if it was chasing him. But he still had to find his family.

He was brought out of thinking by the sound of something in the foliage off to his left. Stephen couldn't see what it was, but drew his pistol to aim at the movement. His breathing was quick and his heart picked up speed inside of his chest. His hands also shook horribly, throwing off his aim. Before he could fire though, he spotted a family of deer emerge in front of him. They stopped when they saw him and stared. Their eyes looked beady from the ten or so yards they were from him. Before he could give them a second thought though, they bolted away from him, back into the forest. Stephen lowered the gun, feeling himself relax even though adrenaline continued to pump through his body. It was strange. For so long, the wildlife had seemed non-existent. Why was he seeing them now? Why were they coming back? Maybe everything was starting to go back to normal again. He couldn't remember how long it had been since the initial outbreaks.

After wondering for another moment, he holstered the gun. Pulling a water bottle out of his pocket, he uncapped the top and started drinking. He finished, wiped his mouth, and dropped the bottle on the ground. It was empty; he had no more need for it. He started walking again until he found what he had been looking for. In front of him, hidden partially by the trees, an old dirt path cut off from the main road he was on. He stopped for a moment and looked down at his feet. Underneath him, he saw what looked like hundreds of foot prints in the dirt. They looked extremely old and were almost invisible, but they were still there. He shivered as a cold chill swept up his back, but he continued on anyway.

As he got further along the path, the surrounding trees seemed to close in on him, causing him to feel claustrophobic. He thought he saw shadows darting in between the trees, but his eyes were playing tricks on him. In a tree somewhere, a bird started chirping. Stephen let himself smile at the return of the wildlife. He was surprise at how much he had missed the little things he had taken for granted before. He just happened to glance to his right, and spotted a familiar hill. He saw branches covering a small hole and walked over to it, remembering that he had once hid in there.

_He was exhausted from running and his lungs were burning. He heard them getting closer. He looked to his right, saw nothing but trees, and then looked to his left, and spotted his only chance for survival. He dived into the ditch and hurriedly covered himself with nearby shrubbery. He uttered a silent prayer, and then held his breath as he heard them pass by him. Their growls were loud and their breathing seemed to come from right next to him, but they all ran by him. Steadily, their numbers ebbed until none remained in the area. Stephen sat up from his hiding spot and looked behind him, to the direction from where he had been running from. In the sky, a dark pillar of smoke was rising._

He was so close; he could practically smell the burning wood and gunpowder. He cleared a patch of thick trees that cut through the path, and finally came face to face with what he had been looking for. In front of him, the charred and run-down remains of a building were spread among the area. He could make out in his mind where the door had been before, and where the walls started and stopped. He looked to a certain area and crouched in the debris, searching.

_The door won't open. Why?_

_It was blocked._

_By what?_

_He didn't know._

He continued searching through the dust and dirt. He sifted through it and struck something hard. He picked the object up and found out what it was; a bone.

"_God damn you Stephen!" Eric pounded on the door, almost in sync with the infected behind them. The fire was so hot now, so close. They heard the structure groan in response, then shudder. The roof near the infected door collapsed, sealing them off from the three trying to get out. Logan started crying._

"_Please don't cry Logan, it will all be ok." Amy struggled to be heard over the noise. "We will be fine." She got down to Logan's level and hugged him tightly. "It will all be fine." Eric stopped hitting the door and put his head against the wall._

"_I can't believe this." Behind them, they could no longer hear anything except for the fire._

He dropped the bone by surprise and stood up straight. He tried to swallow but couldn't. In his chest, pain was flaring up again, almost unbearably so. He struggled to breathe, and put a hand to his chest to calm himself down. He crouched back down and pushed away debris to find more bones. Soon, he uncovered a skeleton. His vision was becoming blurry and he was feeling lightheaded. He uncovered more bones, and another skeleton. This one was smaller, the size of a child.

_Logan._

He looked back at the other skeleton.

_Amy._

He cleared more away and finally found the third.

_Eric._

He stood up, almost falling from the lightheadedness. His arms were beginning to ache along with his neck. Around the skeletons, no others were found among them. It was just those three, grouped together. Just those three were here, which meant that the infected hadn't gotten through. They weren't walking around like that.

Tears slipped down Stephen's face, and he fell to the ground.

They hadn't gotten through to them. They died right here by the fire.

_Stephen stood in front of the door. He couldn't open them because parts of the roof had fallen in front of it, blocking his efforts. He tried to get past it, but he couldn't move it alone._

"_I can't open it!" His voice was strained. They couldn't hear him on the inside, but he could hear them._

"_Don't leave Stephen!"_

"_Daddy!"_

"_I'm not leaving you son!" He yelled desperately, trying to get them to hear him. He tugged and pulled and pushed but the debris just wouldn't move._

"_Don't leave us!"_

"_I swear to you that I will never leave you!" His voice cracked and strained so he could yell as loud as he could. They still didn't hear him. From around the corner, Stephen spotted them. Almost too quickly to comprehend, the infected sprinted for him, and he hesitated before finally running._

_I promise to come back._

He had kept that promise.

"I swore to you that I would come back." He said to empty air. He had trouble talking from the tightness of breath he was experiencing. He fell face first into the ground, and then rolled on to his back. Pain seared throughout his chest and neck, and felt like he couldn't breathe. "I promised that I would come back to you." Above him, the sky was clear, and the sun was warm on his face. He stared at it, and then saw their faces. His wife was smiling at him, holding her hands out to him. His son appeared along with Eric.

"You kept your promise." He touched his wife's hand and squeezed it tightly. It felt real to him, like she was still there.

"What's wrong with me?" His pain was starting to go away. The shortness of breath was beginning to disappear and he could see clearer now. Their faces looked exactly how he remembered them. They didn't look like they did in his nightmares.

"You are having a heart attack Stephen." He frowned, and then asked another question.

"Am I going to die?" She didn't answer at first, but then gave a response.

"Yes."

He smiled, and grabbed his son's hand too. He closed his eyes. Together, they waited until Stephen's pain had gone away and he could breathe again. He opened his eyes back up, and was staring at the surrounding forest. He was standing up, and on top of a distant hill with his family and Eric. On the horizon, he could see burning cities and cottages. Slowly, one by one, they all disappeared, leaving only the forest behind. Then the wildlife returned, and not a sound could be heard besides the birds singing. Stephen took a deep breath.

"It's beautiful." He saw a small home in a clearing. His wife squeezed his hand and they looked at each other.

"It's our home." Stephen looked over at Eric, who was holding a pretty girl in his arms. They were hugging each other. He smiled and looked back at his new home.

"Let's go, we're safe now."


End file.
